


Mock the Meat it Feeds on

by xzombiexkittenx



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal is bad at feelings, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Murder Husbands, Neither is sure if they're murder husbands or muder bros, Threats of non-con, Will's not great either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5022496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xzombiexkittenx/pseuds/xzombiexkittenx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murder husbands in Argentina - neither is quite sure where the physical side of their relationship is going until Will gets picked up by a woman at one of their parties. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't go well for anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ride_eternal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ride_eternal/gifts).



> For Ro, who commissioned murder husbands in Argentina.

Hannibal owned a vineyard in Argentina, because of course he did. Will would have teased him, except he really liked it. The house was nothing at all like Hannibal's house in Baltimore, or the places Will had lived, but it was perfect for both of them together. It was an old-style villa, beautiful tiled floors, high ceilings, light airy rooms, the kitchen and bathrooms were modern and there was a pool. Most excitingly, it was right off a massive lake with decent fishing, and there was plenty of land that wasn't for grapes. Hannibal had dog kennels built within a week of their arrival. Will found their first two dogs in three days. Hannibal mostly ignored the dogs and because of that they loved him with total devotion. 

Hannibal paid the vineyard field workers twice the going salary (not that it was anything to mention even after he did that) in blue dollars. The overseer was treated like a beloved friend. Hannibal knew how to buy loyalty and he also knew how to keep it. He learned the name of every single employee, their wives, their children. He made sure all the children were in school and equipped with uniforms and supplies. The FBI or Interpol could ask any one of them and they'd lie to protect Hannibal and their own livelihood. 

Argentina was more far more friendly towards homosexuals than Will had guessed, but out in the country it wasn't as accepted as in the major cities. True of most places, Will figured, but he was accepted by the locals in the same way all eccentricities of the rich are accepted. Will wasn't sure that he and Hannibal counted but they looked like a gay couple. He wasn't sure they were, but he wasn't sure they weren't, either. 

Hannibal loved him. They shared their lives, their house. They shared a bed and they slept together but only in the strictest definition of the word. He found himself reaching out for Hannibal in quiet, domestic moments. Their feet tangled together under the breakfast table, one would reach over the other to turn a table lamp on or off, Will dropped absent kisses into Hannibal's hair as he passed. Hannibal beamed at him with an uncomplicated happiness that Will could feel like a touch.

It didn't stop the local women from pushing their daughters at Hannibal, but they pushed them at Will too. Hannibal was adept at gently turning their advances away and Will mimicked him until he at least wasn't being offensive. Will was pretty sure it bothered him more than it bothered Hannibal. He didn't like seeing Hannibal be charming to the young women who 'happened across' him during their day. Jealousy was a new thing for Will and it sat, ugly and hot in his stomach. For all he knew Hannibal was having an affair with one of them. Doubtful, because it would be monumentally stupid, but he couldn't weed out the gnawing feeling that Hannibal was going to get tired of him and move on to tormenting someone else. It would kill him to lose Hannibal now, Will knew it.

The problem with Will's empathy was that it was hard to avoid projecting his own feelings into a space. He filled shadows and voids with his imagination, but where Hannibal was concerned Will wasn't sure he was reading anything right. Did he want to have sex with Hannibal, or did Hannibal want to have sex with him? One of them wanted it, Will was almost certain.

It had been over a year since he last got laid. It was a month in before he realized if he jerked off in the shower before Hannibal took a turn then Hannibal could smell what he'd been doing. It didn't stop him. Hannibal never said anything, and Will couldn't parse if he kept doing it because he didn't care, or because he liked the idea of Hannibal knowing exactly what he'd been up to. He thought about Hannibal when he jerked off - he wondered what Hannibal thought about, he thought about what sex might be like, how it would be to watch Hannibal submit under him, brought to heel by Will and Will alone, or how Hannibal might use his surprising strength to wrestle Will down and have him however he liked.

But Hannibal never gave any indication that he wanted more than what they had and Will didn't want to risk destroying the solid ground they were laying down. They had a real chance to build a life together, feeling out the edges of what both of them were willing to tolerate.

After a long stretch where they were silent and cruel to each other by turns, where Hannibal killed someone in a neighbouring village, and Will left - sleeping outside for a night, kept warm by his dogs - where Will woke Hannibal up with a knife to his throat thinking about murder-suicide, and Hannibal threatened to go back to America and destroy everyone Will had even so much as looked at, they finally came to an agreement. They kept their killing to a minimum, other monsters only. Will accompanied Hannibal into the city for various cultural events. Hannibal accompanied Will on countryside rambles. They both gave each other their own space - Hannibal began cultivating a garden, Will had a workshop full of engines and boat parts to tinker with.

It was surprisingly easy to fall into. Hannibal wasn't a great roommate - he was compulsively tidy and it drove Will nuts watching him right-angle everything with everything else. He left wet towels in weird places, folded up but still wet. He kept using Will's toothbrush and then had the nerve to complain when Will didn't squeeze the toothpaste from the very end of the tube. He was vain, he snored if he slept on his back then refused to admit it, and he was incapable of asking for what he wanted without playing some sort of game. But Will woke up most mornings feeling rested, and content, and genuinely happy. 

It was entirely possible to love someone without wanting to fuck them, Will knew that. He'd never had a relationship with a man before, and he wasn't stupid enough to think he and Hannibal weren't in a relationship. What he didn't know was if Hannibal had ever been with a man before. He couldn't bring himself to ask. It wasn't even relevant. _He'd_ never been with a man and he wanted Hannibal anyway. Or he thought he did. 

The weekend after their first pressing was ready to drink, Hannibal threw a soiree (or at least that's what Will was calling it in his head). The house was full of wine critics, illuminates, wine connoisseurs, Hannibal's friends from the city... and Will, who stood awkwardly in a corner pondering if he should just get them both drunk enough for plausible deniability - not that Hannibal was possessed of the ability to just let something go - and go in for a kiss.

Will didn't stand out at least, not in that way. Hannibal had him fitted with a very sharp suit so he didn't look like the poor country cousin. Without his usual beard he just looked like Hannibal's not-too-scandalously younger 'friend.' From the way the guests had been talking to him, Will figured they'd all underestimated his age by about ten to fifteen years. Which was why he'd had the beard in the first place. 

No one knew he was Will Graham, profiler extraordinaire, so there weren't any sideways looks or people trying to pick his brain. It didn't make him feel any less out of place. The crowd was entirely comprised of bespoke suits and couture gowns. There had to be a cool million in diamonds on the throats and wrists of the guests.

Everyone was working their way to drunk and those not sucking up to Hannibal and his European charm, were trying to suck up via Will. Hannibal, now going as Petras Barca, always introduced Will as, "Guillermo, my friend and partner in crime," which meant exactly nothing, except that Hannibal was an asshole. No one had the balls to ask if they were lovers. Probably for the best, since Will had no idea how to even begin answering that question.

"You don't look as though you're having a great deal of fun." The woman who appeared at Will's left hand was about Hannibal's age and was striking, rather than beautiful. She had lines around her mouth, but almost none around her eyes. Either she'd had very good botox or she just didn't emote very much. The neckline on her dress was a shade too risqué for Hannibal's soiree, but she had smooth olive skin and small breasts that still sat high enough to pull it off. She sipped at her wine with a studied casualness.

"There's wine," Will said with a shrug.

Her laugh was throaty, half-kind, half-mocking. "There is at that," she said. I hear this is half your doing."

"Don't let Petras fool you," Will said. "Wine is his passion. I just drink it."

"Then either you're the money or..." She trailed off. "No, that's not it." She tapped long nails against the crystal. "You're very handsome, you know, I don't suppose many people tell you that outright."

Will felt his face heat up. "Not in this crowd," he allowed.

"Mmm, no. Too busy trying to figure out if they can sleep their way into Petras' good graces. Do you share his bed?"

"I beg your pardon?" Will said, instead of trying to explain that yes, he did. But, no, not like that.

"I see," she said, extending a hand. "Madeline Jeune, you may call me Madeline."

Will, as he had seen Hannibal do, kissed the air above her knuckles. "Enchante?" It sounded like a question, even to him.

"You poor darling," Madeline said, and she still sounded like she was laughing. With or at him, he wasn't sure. She turned her hand in Will's and caught hold of him. "He's left you adrift in this sea of piranhas, all ready to strip you to the bone."

"But not you."

"Not me. I appreciate beautiful things."

Will tilted his face so she could see the scarring more clearly. "You're either lying, or as enamored of the rarified as Petras."

"Is that what he calls you? Rarified?" She brushed her fingernails over his cheek. "How cruel, the backhanded compliment. To tell you only he would find you beautiful. But not so rare or beautiful that he would have you to his bed. Unless he is, how do you say? An invert. And you are not." 

Probably there was some polite, society response to that, but unfortunately, Hannibal wasn't there to give it. Will could feel his blush spread down his chest and up into his ears. He shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

"Don't be embarrassed," Madeline said. "You don't have to reply, I can see. He doesn't pay you the proper attention. I would like to take you to my bed."

It was insanity, even considering it. Just because Hannibal didn't want to sleep with him didn't mean he'd want Will sleeping with anyone else. He had a long history of hurting people who he felt were too close to Will. But Will hadn't had sex in an age, and he missed it. Madeline stepped a little closer. She smelled of expensive perfume and women's shampoo. 

They were angled so that Will's body was blocking the room's view of her. She took his hand and put it on her chest, against her skin in the deep -V of her dress. Will swallowed hard enough that he was sure she'd be able to hear it. "I can't leave the house," Will said.

Madeline smiled at him in earnest, that same, slow, predatory smile that Hannibal had. "Of course not," she said. "It would be gauche of me to suggest you leave your own party." She set her glass down on the nearest end-table. "Do you have a bed I can take you to?"

Will opened his mouth to tell her 'no' but what came out was 'yeah, okay,' instead. 

He took her to one of the guest bedrooms because there was no way he was fucking her in the bed he shared with Hannibal. He was minimizing the blast radius, Will knew that, but better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. They'd have sex, he'd clean the sheets, air out the room, and when Hannibal inevitably had a fit about it Will wouldn't tell him her name. When Hannibal threatened to start killing the guests until he got the right one, Will would threaten to walk. After a great deal of bullshit, they would sit down and talk it out. Maybe Hannibal would finally be willing to tell Will what it was he wanted. Maybe Will would figure out what it was that he, himself, wanted.

Madeline looked around with little interest. "This will do," she said.

Will stepped up behind her, she was broad-shouldered, lean curves. He liked the strong lines of her back and the way she shivered when he kissed her there, at the hairline. His fingers had barely brushed the tab of the zipper on her dress when she spun on her heel and knocked his hand away.

"Ah, ah, ah," she said. "We do this the way I like, yes?"

Will nodded, standing still as she unknotted his tie and slid it from around his neck to puddle on the floor. She stalked around him, pulling the jacket off his shoulders, hard enough to rock him on his feet, then down his arms, tossing it to join the tie. 

Madeline pressed her hand to the front of Will's trousers, over the line of his cock and squeezed. Hard enough to make him whimper, a soft, hurt sound. "You like doing as you're told?" she asked.

Will chewed on his bottom lip. "I like it when people know what they want. it's less tiring than reading them, I can focus on what I want."

Madeline didn't bother to ask what he wanted. "Take your clothes off. Get on the bed, on your back. I want to see you."

Will hesitated, fingers hovering over the first button of his shirt. It was the first time he'd thought about the scarring in a long time, in an aesthetic sense.

Hannibal liked his scars, Will hadn't needed Bedelia to tell him that. He got a secret little smile in the corner of his mouth whenever he got to touch them; helping Will with his shoulder, rubbing sunscreen on the places Will couldn't reach, when he thought Will was sleeping and he'd ghost his fingers over the lines he'd carved into Will's skin. It had stopped bothering Will early on. It was what it was, and Will didn't spend much time at all looking in mirrors.

"It's not pretty," he warned. "I...I was in a car accident."

"Rarified?"

He smiled mirthlessly and undid his shirt. The scar on his stomach had faded to a pale pink, but his shoulder was a mess of red-raw scarring over the white craters of the previous damage. 

She just stood there, impassive, until he was fully naked, arranged on the bed to her liking. He felt mildly embarrassed at his own nudity, lying there on display, hard cock curved up against his belly, but the embarrassment felt good too. He squirmed a little, letting himself enjoy it, 

"You can't put your arms over your head?"

Will shook his head. "One of them, not the other."

She directed him onto his stomach, dragging her nails down his back and over his ass. "Keep still or I won't let you come," Madeline said and Will's pulse seemed to trip over itself. 

She eased his arms into position so his wrists were crossed in the small of his back and then bound them together with Will's tie. It wasn't very comfortable to roll back over, his weight cutting off the circulation to his hands.

"Now then," Madeline said and got up on the bed so she was straddling Will's hips. Her skirt rucked up high enough that he should have been able to see her panties, but she was wearing spandex shorts underneath. Not even spanx, actual athletic shorts. "Let me see." Her accent slid away from the soft French undertones to bland midwestern, USA.

"That's no car accident." Madeline touched his stomach, shoulder, cheek. Not gently. Tap, tap, tap. "Those are pretty distinctive identifying marks there, Will. You probably should've kept your shirt on. Makes my job easier though."

"What?" Will said, before understanding crashed down on him. 

He started to struggle, handicapped by his shoulder, only really able to kick his legs and twist his hips uselessly. She just kneeled up and bodily flipped him over again, onto his stomach, using his own momentum against him. Madeline was strong, stronger than Will would have thought and she put all her weight into pushing his face down into the pillow and holding him down until he couldn't struggle any more.

Just when he thought he was going to pass out, she let him up. He sucked in air too fast and started coughing, eyes watering so badly he could barely see her at all.

"You weren't easy to find," Madeline said. "The two of you are very good at covering your tracks. Much better than Lecter and my employer were. But then, she wanted him to get caught sooner rather than later."

"Bedelia sent you?" Will asked, panting breathlessly, trying to get his elbows underneath him so he could use that to leverage her off his back.

"She told me to give you a message," Madeline said and leaned in close, digging her elbow into Will's shoulder as she did so. She smothered his scream in the pillow and then said, close to his ear, "Ready or not."

The odds of Bedelia hiring someone to torture him were vanishingly small. In Will's experience, contract killers were thin on the ground. Mostly they just existed in television shows and pulp novels, but finding someone like Tier, Budge, or the Dragon, even Mason - some other serial killer with an axe to grind or a point to prove - that was much easier. The problem was that someone like the Dragon et al weren't just going to shoot him and Hannibal in the head and have done with it.

Will had met his fair share of sadists and they weren't usually hard to spot. Madeline, or whatever her name was, was no exception. She would play with him until she got bored of watching him hurt, and then - and only then - she'd kill him and move on to Hannibal. Considering the position he was in, Will was afraid that he wasn't going to be able to get out of this one on his own and his only hope was that Hannibal would come looking for him. He wasn't hopeful that would happen before it was too late.

Will tried to headbutt her and she just laughed at him. She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled, digging a knee into his kidney as she hauled him back in a painful arc.

"I do feel bad," Madeline said. "I had all kinds of plans on how to waylay or ambush you. I never thought you'd fall for a honey trap. Dr Du Maurier was so certain that Lecter would be sticking it to you on the regular. But I guess not, huh. Poor Will Graham, straight boy leaves everything for a man and doesn't even get laid, after all that."

"If you're so concerned about sex, how about you go fuck yourself," Will said. If he could keep her talking, if he could keep her interested in hurting him, he had a better chance of Hannibal deciding to look for him.

Madeline used her handful of hair to shake Will until his teeth rattled. "Maybe I should do you a solid and fuck you before I kill you. You seemed happy enough to do what I wanted before and now I think I want to fuck you up the ass with one of Lecter's wine bottles - and as an aside, it's a pretty good vintage - and let him find you like that."

Will couldn't help the laugh that scraped out of him. "Glad you liked it," he said. "Guess what the secret ingredient is."

Madeline's face seemed to freeze in a rictus of disgust. "Bullshit," she said flatly.

"Ask Alana Bloom if it's bullshit," Will said, still laughing. "Easier than brewing bodies into beer."

The smile that crept across her face, the first expression he'd seen that touched her eyes and caused the skin around them crinkle up with happiness, made his blood run cold. "Oh, you're going to be fun, aren't you?"


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken a long time for Hannibal to recover from their battle with the Dragon and subsequent fall. There were days - feverish, pain-soaked days - that he scarcely remembered except for the certainty that he was going to die. The human body was a miraculous thing though. In the ER Hannibal had seen people survive every sort of injury and now he had the dubious pleasure of experiencing it first-hand. But survive he did.

He was bedridden for months, ruptured liver slowly healing, battling infection. Whenever he was compos mentis enough to function, depending on where they were, Will would get him into a wheelchair and take him wherever they needed to go to pick up false documents, money, or other necessities that Hannibal had stashed in various locations. Perhaps his reliance on Will in those early days had led to Will abusing his shoulder until it was past repair, but Hannibal suspected the cumulative damage of his many injuries had finally taken their toll. Whatever the cause, Will's shoulder was never going to be the same. With physical therapy he might be able to lift his arm parallel to the ground, but probably no further. 

After they had settled down into their new lives in their Argentine villa, he had worried that the physical limitations would start to chafe at Will, but so far as Hannibal could see, Will didn't mind. Having freed himself of not only his ties to his old life, but the nine hundred layers of flannel he used to swaddle himself in Will looked like a happier, healthier twin. Now, Will liked to bask in the sun, fishing, tinkering with his boat motors, walking the dogs, or simply lying on a deck chair, baking himself to a crisp. Miles from prying eyes, he liked to do it without a shirt on, much to Hannibal's delight. If Hannibal had purchased shorts for Will that were rather higher above the knee than average, that was no one's business but his own. Will had never complained.

He thought Will might actually like the attention. Hannibal had no pretenses that Will was ignorant of his feelings. He had never been coy about them. It gave Will power over him, knowing that Hannibal loved him, knowing the things he would do to keep Will's attention, his affection, his friendship. Hannibal was happy to give him that power. Or, at least, he had resigned himself to being manipulated by Will's delightful performances of vulnerability. His weakness for Will's beautiful face - made no less so by the scars - was almost like a shared joke between them. Knowing that Will had Hannibal twisted around his little finger, and could charm him with a look, that Hannibal had made himself vulnerable in turn - the balance of control was always shifting. 

Will didn't deny Hannibal the pleasure of looking at him. He never covered his scars, or buttoned himself up. He never shied away when he caught Hannibal drawing him. He went skinny dipping in their pool. He wore the shorts and let Hannibal look at his legs, and his ass. He also, to Hannibal's surprise, was exceptionally receptive to physical touch. For three years Hannibal had been starved of almost all human contact that didn't involve straightjackets, cavity searches, or other tedious procedures of incarceration. Will had had a wife, a son, a hundred ugly dogs, he should not have been so skin hungry, but he leaned into Hannibal's touches. They would sit, shoulder to shoulder when there was space on the couch. He would take Hannibal's arm in the open markets. There was nudging and casual touching, casual brushes of hands over backs and arms. 

Thrice weekly Hannibal would work on Will's shoulder to keep it limber, and then indulge himself by putting his hands over Will's legs and arms and chest in the flimsy guise of a massage. When he was done, Will was usually a sleepy, contented puddle, and Hannibal would get into the bed with him, turn out the lights, and they would sleep, side by side.

Perhaps it kept Will's nightmares at bay. Perhaps he'd grown used to having another person in his bed. Perhaps he liked keeping Hannibal close the same way Hannibal liked having Will close. Neither of them ever said anything about it. And thrice weekly had somehow turned into Will abandoning his own bedroom and moving into Hannibal's. His books migrated to the nightstand. His pain medication was in Hannibal's bathroom. Then his hairbrush. His toothbrush. His razor and soap, his nail clippers and hideous aftershave that Hannibal kept throwing out and Will kept buying just to aggravate him...

Eventually they turned Will's room into a solarium.

"You're very sentimental," Will said one night, apropos of nothing, as he settled himself comfortably on his stomach.

"I suppose so," Hannibal said, warming the massage oil between his hands. "But I don't think you ever truly believed I was some heartless monster." He smoothed his hands over Will's back.

Hannibal did a cursory check for melanomas but none of Will's delightful freckles had changed. He wanted to put his mouth on them - bite, kiss, lick - he wanted to taste every inch of Will Graham. Instead, Hannibal began massaging Will's shoulders and back.

"I don't mean that." Will hummed happily, eyes closing, when Hannibal worked his thumbs up and down Will's neck. "I like it. Being able to see things with all the passion you have."

"Is that your way of saying you would be willing to attend the opera again?"

He felt, more than heard, Will's laugh. "Yes, Hannibal. I'll go again."

They continued on in contented silence, save for Will's quiet little sighs of pleasure and grunts when Hannibal worked something loose in his back. Early on, Will had remarked on the strength in Hannibal's hands and he had been delighted to find out it was from cooking. Now, he just lay there and slowly became one with the mattress. By the time Hannibal had him roll onto his back, Will looked a lot like Hannibal imagined he'd look like after a particularly good fuck - eyes half closed, face relaxed, mouth just a little open. 

Will had an erection, but Hannibal didn't fool himself thinking it meant more than a physical response to the massage. He politely ignored it, 

"Sorry," Will said, the way he always did and Hannibal feigned temporary deafness, the way he always did.

He desperately wanted to offer his hand, or his mouth. He wanted to offer to let Will fuck him, or to fuck Will; anything he wanted. Hannibal liked sex. He liked sex with beautiful people, interesting people, people who had talent. Will was all three. They were so in sync in everything else, he had no doubt intercourse would be equally spectacular. But despite everything, Will had made no indication that he wanted anything more than what they already had.

Instead, Hannibal would finish working on Will's shoulder from the front, carefully avoiding bringing any part of his body in contact with Will's cock. Then they would lie down together and some nights Will would keep to his own side of the bed. Mostly he would starfish over three-quarters of the mattress until Hannibal tucked him in close out of self-defense. 

It was a strange equilibrium; stealing away at night together to wreak beautiful, bloody death on anyone Will could stomach murdering; long days by the lake; bickering over who was better at barbeque and whether or not Hannibal under-salted or Will over-salted dishes.

Hannibal in no way expected it to last. He did not, however, expect Will to sneak off from their own party to fuck one of the guests.

He had always been good at compartmentalizing, and it was no trouble at all to keep a straight face even though some horrible combination of rage and hurt was making him feel sick to his stomach.

He checked his phone as though he had just received a message, and put on an expression of dismay. "I beg your pardon," he said to the closest guests, "there's been a minor family emergency, please, forgive my appalling manners. I'll be back as soon as possible." 

Once in the kitchen, Hannibal instructed the staff to politely usher people out if he hadn't returned within an hour. Then he made his way to the bedroom, trying to decide if he was going to murder the woman first and demand an explanation after, or if that sort of jealousy might drive Will to drastic actions. He didn't think Will would leave him, not permanently, but separation, even temporary, was unacceptable.

There was no need to bloody their good kitchen knives, Hannibal decided. The woman trying to break up his family wasn't a large person, he could strangle her easily, break her neck.

They were in one of the guest bedrooms, which didn't make him feel any better. Will knew, he knew that he was going to make Hannibal unhappy, and he was trying to hide it. Did he really think he could hide it?

Hannibal slipped off his shoes and socks, hung his jacket on a nearby doorknob and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. The door opened soundlessly.

For a moment he was surprised by how viscerally he felt the betrayal of Will's infidelity. Not only was he fucking some stranger in their house, but he'd let her tie him up with one of the ties Hannibal had given-

Wait.

Hannibal quietly closed the door behind himself and leaned against the doorjamb. He coughed, politely.

The woman turned to look at him, still kneeling on top of Will, trying to maneuver him into a position where she could force the neck of an opened wine bottle into his ass. If the bottle didn't shatter, seriously injuring Will, then alcohol poisoning would kill him. There was red wine all over the white sheets. The mattress would be unsalvageable. Perhaps the dogs would like it for their kennel.

"Generally it's considered rude to invite yourself to a party, proposition the host's partner, and then try to forcibly sodomize him," Hannibal said.

"Generally?" Madeline said.

"Never say never," Hannibal said.

Will, pinned face-down on the bed, twisted enough that he could see Hannibal. "Madeline, I guess you know Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal, this is Bedelia's hit man. Woman."

"Is that so?" Hannibal said. "How enterprising of Dr Du Maurier. He who hesitates and all that. If you could let Will up, that would be wonderful. I've done a lot of work on his shoulder and I'd hate for you to set him back."

Madeline climbed off of Will and smashed the bottle on the nightstand, badly scratching the wood. "I tend to prefer my men more like your little friend here," she said. "So happy to please, so eager for the attention. So pretty when I cut into them. But you. You're...a challenge."

"I live to please," Hannibal said dryly.

She was fast, damn near professional, and she came close enough to cutting him that she spattered his shirt with wine drops and moved back before he could grab her arm. But she wasn't an assassin, not really. She was rare, a female serial killer and true sadist, but she wasn't trained. 

Behind her, Will, who was wonderfully flexible, slipped his hips and legs through the loop of his arms. He hooked his arms over her head, choking her hard enough to lift her feet off the ground. She slashed at him but Hannibal grabbed her arm, twisting until she dropped the wine bottle.

"Just kill her," Will ground out.

Hannibal picked up an ornamental geode and smashed her head with it. Will let her drop to the floor and Hannibal snapped her neck, just to be safe.

For a minute they just stood there. Will was panting, wine spattered and naked. Hannibal left the room and returned with a robe. By the time he got back, Will had used his teeth to get the tie off his wrists and was rubbing his shoulder, wincing. He put the robe on, a mulish expression on his face.

"I told the staff to send everyone home if I didn't return in an hour," Hannibal said. "We can move her properly then. For now I would like to shift her to the bathroom so we don't stain the floor."

"I'm sorry, I ruined your party," Will said.

"On the contrary," Hannibal said, examining the contents of Madeline's purse, "everyone will want to come next time. This has been quite scandalous." He tossed the purse on the bed, nothing in it worth noting. 

He waited.

"I'm not sorry for trying to sleep with her," Will said, stubbornly. "We're not. You can't." He rubbed at his shoulder, again. "You can't decide you don't want something but not allow me to-"

"What is that you think I don't want?" Hannibal said. "Sex?"

"Well," Will said. "Yes."

"For someone who I hold in the highest esteem, Will, you are..." Hannibal, not for the first time, was made speechless by Will Graham. "You're not a stupid man," was what he settled on. "How can you be so idiotic about this! Of course I want you. I made it perfectly clear. You were the one who decided-"

"I didn't decide shit!" Will interrupted. "You were the one who never-"

There was a tentative knock on the door and Will picked up the remains of the wine bottle and threw it. The entire room was in shambles, Hannibal would have to completely redo it. "God damn it, not now!" Will shouted. Footsteps retreated down the hallway.

Hannibal waited until he was certain they were alone again. "I adore you, how could you not-"

Will held up a hand. "No. No you do not get to put this on me and my empathy. You never said anything to me. And don't even think about mentioning the way you watch me. That doesn't count, so don't talk to me about your staring. You stare at paintings, and statues, and that garden you spend so much time poking at. You stare at rude people you want to eat for crissakes. You don't want to fuck those things!"

Hannibal gestured expansively at the room. "I don't share a bed with those things! I don't incarcerate myself for those things! You know my feelings for you, I don't understand how this, of all things, could have escaped your understanding."

"I don't know!" Will said. "Sometimes it's hard to separate out my feelings from the things I pick up from other people. How was I supposed to know you wanted sex? You never said anything."

Hannibal's words caught in his throat. "And what are your own feelings?"

Will looked at Hannibal's hands, at the clock, at the door, at the wall to Hannibal's left. "I chose you," he said. "I chose this life. If we're doing this, I want to do it all. I want everything."

"Oh, my beautiful boy," Hannibal said, breathless with wanting. "How foolish we've been."

"Speak for yourself," Will grumbled, but he was starting to smile. 

Hannibal kissed him and got to taste the smile, to steal it away with his mouth and keep it for himself. "I'm going to do terrible things to you Will Graham," he said.

"Promises, promises," Will said, pinkening. "But maybe we should move this corpse first."

Hannibal kissed him again, hands greedy in Will's hair. "Body, then bed. Then when I'm finished despoiling you, we're figuring out where Bedelia is. I hope now you won't mind so very much if we go find her?"

Will clutched at his shirt, full-on grinning now. "Hannibal, I don't care if you want to wrap her in ti leaves with tropical fruit and have a luau. Just so long as you take me to bed first."


End file.
